


The things he would never admit out loud

by th1sgurl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Human & Country Names Used (Hetalia), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 04:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20401378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/th1sgurl/pseuds/th1sgurl
Summary: Arthur was never afraid to voice his opinion. He always said what was on his mind. To anyone who came to a contact with him. Especially to that annoying frog. But there are three things he would never tell Francis, three things he would never admit to anyone.





	The things he would never admit out loud

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
So this work was originally written in Slovak, a.k.a. my mother tongue so translating it was quite a challenge. But I really had fun with both, writing and translating. I really hope you'll find the story good and that you'll like it! I would really appreciate if you could leave comment under this work - which takes no time and helps me becoming better :))  
As always, I am sorry for possible typos, and  
Enjoy!

There are three things in this world that one certain British gentleman would never ever in his life admit. Not to himself, not to anybody else. He wasn't exactly ashamed, he just felt like no one other than him was supposed to know about them. So no one ever will and that's it, period.

The first thing he would never bring to light or even say out loud is quite... unexpected, let's say. And so, that Arthur Kirkland fell in love with that bearded Frenchman the first time he saw him. Arthur was taken aback by the man's looks and he adored the furtive smile on his face alongside with the spark in his light blue eyes. He liked the way he talked to anyone who stopped him on streets, how he laughed at their jokes. Arthur was kind of surprised how he flirted with women - like if he just wanted to compliment them not seduce them. He couldn't believe that the same strong man that kept on loosing childish fights with young French boys could also be so gentle with little girls, giving them flowers and smiling at them widely. He was like an angel in disguise to everyone he met and knew, which was pissing Arthur off. And no, it really wasn't because that frog-eater never seemed to notice the only Brit in the whole area sitting on the same spot for a week. It was as much of a truth as that Arthur wasn't jealous of all the people that heard the Frenchman's voice.

He wanted to hear it too, he wanted to know how does his voice sound - if it's as pretty as the man itself, if it's as sound as the tones of the accordion that he was always carrying with himself. The one that he played so beautifully and with such an ease, totally unknown to our Englishman. That was the thing Arthur liked about the blonde man probably the most. The passion, the commitment, the loyalty. He played not for himself but for the people, for the country, to dig up those hidden emotions inside of all those who listened to him and his accordion. He _lived_ for every tone, every accord, every song, every key he pressed. He knew exactly what message he wanted to pass on his people, sitting down on wooden chairs in front of a small, cozy French café. Arthur adored how the Frenchman wasn't afraid of making eye-contact, how he was not afraid of silence when he played. 

As time flew, Arthur not only learned the Frenchman's name, he started noticing small things about the man, such as how his looks changed with the type of music and melody he played. For example, when he played cheerful and happy songs, his hair was always tied, fashionable scarf was coverig the skin on his neck, he had beautiful stylish clothes on, just as if he wanted to say how beautiful he - no, how beautiful _Paris_ is. Those day, he wore a confident smirk on his lips, he laughed with people that complimented him, he was just as happy as the music he played. And people in Paris loved it and they loved him. The area that almost no one went in during the day was full of beautiful beings and cheerful kids, who sang and danced by the Frenchman's side. They were clapping, laughing, asking the man to join them, but he just shook his head and kept on playing the accordion, making them all happy, making Arthur happy. That was the case mostly at the weekends and in the early evenings. The week evenings and late nights were diametrically different. He was playing for elders, hard-working, for drunkards, for those that could not sleep at nights. He was playing sad songs, ballads. Wearing plain clothes, his hair falling to his eyes as if he was hiding his pitiful expression, smile lost in the dark and in the moonlight. He was playing for both, himself and the people, lost in his own dark thoughts, knowing no one is paying him attention even though they all knew he was there. He was playing songs about the good old days and gone famous times, the good things that are no longer reality, just painful memories. He was tearing everyone's heart apart by his music, but not a single soul stood up, no one left. All of those poor human beings enjoyed that, the atmosphere, the sadness, enjoyed that feeling that there's nobody who would judge them for what they did, felt... He was freeing them all from their everyday lives and regrets. The Frenchman kept on playing until there was no one he could play for, until he himself wasn't freed from his painful past. 

And Arthur loved that so much about him. How he could never guess what type of music the man with accordion would play, how he liked everything that man offered him, how weak he was against him and how could Arthur never left his seat as long as the bearded man was there, playing for everyone, playing for Arthur. On the other hand, Arthur never cared. He took, he _wanted_ everything that he could get. The man was pure mystery for Arthur and he never wanted to crack it's code. He'd been sitting on the same spot for the last months, enjoying the Darjeeling tea, watching the man's long fingers running across the keys of the instrument. Everyday since May to July. Always identically.

Thought the fourteen of July was different. Francis was late. He had never been late before. Arthur knew he would eventually come, but he couldn't stop himself from being anxious about the half of an hour long delay. Peacefully drinking his fourth tea today, he caught the beardo's silhouette. Arthur followed his long fast steps towards his usual spot, he was looking at Francis as he sat down, as he lightly ran his fingers after the keyboard of his beloved instrument. And before he started playing he raised his head and looked Arthur straight into his eyes. The Englishman's hand holding pretty cup with roses stopped halfway to his mouth, Francis left him speechless and surprised by this sudden change in his attitude. The heart of British gentleman skipped a beat, and the weird sensation of being unable to take a breath embraced him for the first time in his life. He couldn't move a single muscle, couldn't look away, he was bewildered and he did not know what to do with it. The only thing he was able to do was listen to the song the Frenchman started playing. It was a new one, somehow light and full of different emotions. It wasn't exactly happy one not even sad one. To Arthur it seemed like if it was... affectionate one. A song about strange feeling, song about confused heart and blank mind, about butterflies in one's stomach. He smiled.

And then he was taken aback again. Francis started singing. Just like that, totally out of blue. His lips were moving and the sound was coming out of them, reaching to Arthur, finding it's way into his ears, his heart. And then, as quickly as it started, it also ended. Francis stopped singing, he closed his mouth and put his accordion on the ground, standing up, still looking at Arthur. Night replaced day, stars were now brighter than Arthur remembered them to be and the café was already closed. The two of them were the only ones in the whole city, whole world.

"_Bonsoir_, is this seat free?" asked Francis in quiet, strong voice and a wide loving smile, sitting down besides Arthur without asking. The Brit couldn't do anything else, just nod slightly.

*******

Arthur had to admit that the second thing was a bit shameful. But he wasn't the only one who was that way, there is a lot's of needy jealous people, right? He was just on of many. And even tho it was the truth, it didn't made him feel better, not a bit. Arthur kind of knew that he is jealous, though when he started to live with Francis, it turned out that he was a bit too much jealous. Balancing with his personality, it wasn't exactly a good combination and sometimes even he pitied that poor frog, Arthur never made it easy for Francis. But it was the man's own fault — who could ever thought that he would know those two gits, Antonio and Gilbert. And who could ever thought Francis would leave their apartment every Wednesday and Thursday night just because they went out drinking. Arthur knew the good-looking trio went out chasing some young chicks, drinking until their heads would get all dizzy, laughing loudly. He didn't care that Francis never smelled like alcohol or cigarettes, he didn't mind that he apologetically kissed Arthur's cheeks as soon as he came back home. Arthur just knew Francis was doing something weird and shameful. But instead of talking about it, Arthur pretended he didn't mind and when Francis announced he's leaving, Arthur seen him out with a pout.

"I'll come back late today. Gill is having problems with his brother, seems like it's a big one."

"Okay?"

Francis laughed: "I just wanted to say, that you shouldn't wait for me. Dinner is ready, help yourself, cher. And then go to sleep."

Arthur successfully pretended the newspaper he was reading was more interesting than Francis' words: "Yeah, sure."

Francis laughed at him again, kissed him on the top of his head and quickly left. He closed the door just as quietly. Arthur put the newspapers down and sighed. How he hated this feeling! He wanted to keep Francis, his smile and laughter just to himself. Francis was the only one who gave Arthur everything the Brit needed and even more, not wanting anything in return. He was the only one who cared about him and who actually... liked him for him. Yet, Francis was like that to everyone. It was simply the way that the beardo was. And Arthur had to admit that he was scared somebody could take Francis away from him. And maybe that was it, maybe that was why he had always been such a prick to him. Because he didn't want to grow attached to Francis too much. So it would not hurt that much when the day Francis will leave come.

Leave as the accordion did. As the café did. As his singing voice... Yes, it was Arthur's fault that it all wasn't a part of Francis anymore. But he didn't meant wrong. He was just scared that he would miss it one day. He was terribly scared. He could not let that happen to him. The fact that his brothers left him and are constantly arguing with him was more than enough for Arthur. That's why he kept on offending France and the nice cafés, why he was always offending Francis and his music, his beautiful voice, his cooking... That was why he was destroying all great things in his life before it could destroy him. That and the fact that he was jealous of all the people Francis knew and will meet, the people that will enjoy all those things when he will no longer be able to do so.

Arthur stood up and went to Francis' cabinet, taking out two bottles of red wine, forgetting about a glass, taking it with him to the living room. He opened them both at the same time and the velvet liquor slowly disappeared inside of his mouth. Arthur wasn't crying. He wasn't even sad. He was just mad, furious. At himself, at Francis that he let that all happen, that he could not stand against him, that he could not defend the things he like, things that brought them up together. Is Francis like that? Easily influenced, not caring much about thing he plays with? Is Arthur just another of those things that he's prepared to let go just like that, just because someone will tell him so?

"You could just come with me if you wanted to drink, you know," a quiet voice filled dark room.

Arthur just mumbled something to himself. A pair of strong hands lifted him up and slowly carried him to bed.

"Or did you get bored while waiting for me?" Francis smiled for himself, putting Arthur carefully down, covering him with a warm blanket.

For a while, Arthur's world became quiet again. As quiet as it had been this whole time before Francis came to his life. As quiet as it will be when he leaves. The door opened again and Francis lay down next to him. The Frenchman quietly patted the Brit's head and lightly kissed him. He was so close yet so far away. Arthur turned at him and reached for Francis' cheeks. He placed his both palm on his face and kissed him.

"Oh, so you are awake," Francis said for himself and played along with Arthur's game. Their legs were over each others, they had their hands in the other one's hair, their tongues dancing together, Arthur's chest squeezed by sudden heat.

"Francis..." Arthur cried.

"What is it, my dear?" Francis asked, kissing the man again.

"Sing for me, please," his voice broke.

"I thought you hated my singing voice," Francis said surprised.

"That.. that is no true... Sing for me, Francis."

He was just as weak as Arthur. The Englishman was his weak spot, Francis would do anything for him to be happy. He embraced the small Brit, took a deep breath and started singing a song that Arthur knew so well. The song, that Francis sang that day they talked for the first time. The song, that Arthur loved the most, that he offended the most, that he suffered for the most. The song full of affection, broken heart, beginnings and endings, the song that only he could hear. Arthur and no one else. It wasn't fair. Francis loved that song. Did he sang it to somebody else except him? Did he sang it with Gilbert and Antonio? Did the three of them wrote it together? Was it their song? Why was Arthur so jealous of the two of them? Francis loved him, right? No one else, right?

And for the first time - just because he was drunk and all sentimental - he let himself cry and wet Francis' favorite shirt. Francis obviously felt that, so he hugged him even tightly, he stoked Arthur's hair and lowered his voice. And after he finished, he kissed Arthur's forehead, whispering sweet words to him, trying to help Arthur fall asleep.

"I love you Arthur, more than anything else in this whole world," Francis smiled, thinking Arthur would be already asleep.

But he wasn't, not at all. And Arthur was really glad he wasn't asleep. He was glad Francis said that out loud. He was glad and pleased by the information that he was the one Francis loved, dare he think adored. Laying there, drunk and tired, Arthur finally,finally realized that to Francis he was something more than Gilbert and Antonio. That they meant something totally different to his Francis.

Arthur let out a quiet husky laughter. He could never admit that he is jealous. Not after all these weeks and month that it was messing with him and his head. He would never admit it, because he could not let get Francis full of himself that easy.

*******

Last thing was the most simple and most hard to admit.

Arthur admired Francis. 

Of course he admired many things about him, and he was not ashamed to tell Francis. After the jealousy outburst, he could finally bring himself to complimenting his food and music - which he started playing again. But he could never tell him that he admired Francis' strong will and stubbornest. He could never tell him how happy he is, that Francis kept on fighting with Arthur, against Arthur and for Arthur. How pleased he is that Francis has been always showing him that he cares for the Brit, that he really likes him. How he endured all the offences and their stupid quarrels. Francis has it rough with him, Arthur knows. And he loved him even more for never giving up and never giving up on him.

Arthur eventually let himself believe that maybe one day they could spent they're lives together. It was a wish at first, but with passing time, evenings spent together, the nights when becoming one together and even mornings when Arthur watched Francis' sleeping face, his believing changed into awaiting.

Mornings became somehow stereotypically the same, with Francis leaving the bed first, despite waking up second, putting only his boxers on, stepping out of their bedroom to the kitchen, singing and making breakfast. Arthur left the bed when the beautiful smell of food fulfilled their apartment, not a second sooner. He went to the kitchen as well, hugged Francis from the behind, whispering morning greetings in French. They both stayed like that for some time and then Arthur made tea for both of them. They finished their cooking at the same time, taking the breakfast with them to the living room, sitting next to each other at the table, leaning against the other one's body. 

"You changed the flowers," Arthur pointed out when he noticed roses placed in the same vase as white irises. 

"Yes, but that's not the only thing that will change today," Francis said and took a bite.

"Oh, what is that?" Arthur asked surprised.

"I'm taking you on a date today," Francis smiled.

"Oh are you?" Arthur smirked.

Francis nodded and stayed silent. Their day after the meal continued as usual. Reading the newspaper, turning the radio on, cleaning, reading a book while interweaving their fingers together. When the clock ticked twelve times, Francis got up and Arthur followed him. No words, no questions, just walking hand in hand wherever Francis was taking them.

"Oh my God..." Arthur breathed out when they stopped in front of the café they met, "Why?"

"It was about the time," Francis laughed and they both sat at the table Arthur was so familiar with.

"No, but, why are we here?"

"Didn't you miss this place?"

"So so much," Arthur answered honestly.

Francis nodded: "Figured. Well, some things changed, I wanted you to see..."

Arthur looked away from Francis' face and he saw some young woman sitting on the place Francis used to sit on. She was very beautiful and she was holding a guitar. She was playing this specific melody... only if Arthur could figure it out. And then it hit him - it wasn't _a_ melody, it was _the _melody. The song. Francis' song._Their_ song. When she finished, she came to them and placed a little piece of paper in front of Arthur. 

"_Bonne chance!_" she said with a bright smile and left. Just a while after her somebody different replaced her and played another one of those songs that Francis used to play. This whole thing with music, '_bonne chance_' and piece of paper kept on happening over and over again until the night came. By that time, the words connected into sentences and sentences into a letter.

The letter read: "Mon cher, I feel like this is a good way to tell you what I had on mind for a while now. You see, I knew about you sitting at this table since day one you came to the town. I used to switch places every now and then, but I kept on coming back here because of you. I know you watched me carefully and that somehow gave me chills. You might wonder why I never sang. It's because I was so nervous, when you were looking at me with your big green eyes, I completely forgot the words of the song I wrote and I had hard time remembering what key was I supposed to press and when. One day, I just couldn't do it anymore. I was late, because I was that nervous. Luckily I managed to talk to you and thanks to that, here we are. The years we spent together were beautiful and tough, but I'm glad. I could never imagine my life without you, I am so lucky that you are part of it. Yet I am missing something, something so small but so important. I always wanted to stay by your side, even tho we had our fights and such. I gave up things I loved for you, being so dense, not knowing you were actually unsure about me and about us. One day I finally realized that I was doing something wrong. I thought I showed you how much I love you and maybe I did, but I did it somehow wrongly. That day it hit both of us, I believe. Eventually we both get the hang of each other and look at us now. We're more honest, we're more in love, we know each other better that we know our own hearst, prepared to do everything for each other. We have so much, yet we still don't have everything. We both are missing something, aren't we? We need to make a change. As you did in my life, as I did in your life, as we need to do in this our shared life. And I am sure that you agree with me."

Arthur looked up from the letter and his eyes found Francis'. The Frenchman was smiling widely, holding a little box in his hands. He slowly stood up and kneeled down. 

"Arthur Kirkland, will let us make this important change and will you marry me?"

Arthur's life stopped. Everything disappeared and what remained was just a small amount of things and big pile of emotions.

"Yes, of course!" he yelled and threw himself to his fiance's hands. 

Arthur would never admit this was a love at first sight, he would never admit that he was the most jealous boyfriend ever and he would never ever admit he adored Francis, but right now he was not ashamed to admit, that marrying him was the only thing he missed in his great life. And right now, he had everything he ever wanted and he couldn't be happier.


End file.
